Insidious  Dark Night of the Soul
by Catahoula
Summary: After Burt walks in on his son and the boyfriend mid-coitus he must for the first time in a long while battle homophobic feelings. Papabear!Burt with flaws. Sometimes homophobia isn't about slurs or acting on threats or parroting religious doctrines.


**Insidious - Dark Night of the Soul**

**Warnings:** Homophobia, gender perception issues/effeminaphobia, non-perfect!Burt  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T for themes and some language

**Prompt: **Burt walks in on Klaine/ Homophobic thoughts: It's been a long time since Burt has had a truly homophobic thought, especially towards his son. But when he walks in on said son taking it up the ass from his yuppy private-school boyfriend, Burt finds himself battling the first homophobic thoughts he's had in a long time. I'd prefer it if he didn't actually confront Kurt with those thoughts, but instead battled them internally.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>I don't own Burt Hummel or Glee

Sometimes homophobia isn't about slurs or threats or acting on threats or parroting religious doctrines. Sometimes it isn't even primarily about being gay...

I feel stupid even disclaiming this, but to make sure: these are not my views. Far from it. Trying to tell me how these things aren't true will make me feel embarrassed for you. Let's spare everyone the mortification.

* * *

><p><strong>Insidious (Dark Night of the Soul)<strong>

Burt closed the door quietly, unseen by the two very occupied boys. Under normal circumstances he would have raised hell: Kurt hadn't even informed him that the boyfriend was in the house. They'd closed the door. They were having sex, which Burt had also forbidden.

Having been one of "those" teenagers himself ('punk' and 'hooligan' had been frequently directed at him in his youth) he had been fairly realistic regarding this particular commandment being obeyed. But he _had _hoped that it would happen later, that he would have more time. Or at least that they would be sneakier about it; perhaps following the letter of his rules and having sex elsewhere. At the Blaine-kid's house for instance...

He went to the living room and opened the bottle with the good whiskey, the one reserved for very special occasions. This wasn't one. He'd never needed it more. His own gut reaction had shocked him: both the intensity and the venom. The instinctive disgust. God, he didn't know how he would be able to look Kurt, his son, his only child, in the eye after seeing him taking it up the ass from his preppy boyfriend. Burt hoped selfishly that it would be a while until he had to.

He needed time to get himself together again: to deal with it, to overcome it. Or to bury it so deep, so thoroughly that it would never come up again in his conscious mind. He owed that to Kurt. To Elisabeth, may she rest in peace and never know what he felt in these moments about their beloved child. To himself. Because he wasn't that kind of man. Hadn't been for a long time. Aside from when he was...

He would never voice any of what he'd felt just now to Kurt. Ever. No matter what it could cost him. A revolver to his head wouldn't make him spill his feelings and thoughts, the things that had slammed into him with the speed of light and the violence of a battering ram. He'd literally die before letting any of this leave his mouth. He'd probably murder if it would prevent him from ever confessing those feelings. And while his silence would spare Kurt hurt and heartbreak, prevent his world from irrevocably crumbling, in the end it was and would always be: selfish. A selfish choice to protect Burt - from himself and from losing his son, from changing how Kurt viewed him forever.

Two years ago Burt had been to a car trade show. After an exhausting day of demonstrations, meetings and presentations he had been ready for a beer or five. He'd gone down to the bar, ready to relax. He'd somehow ended up chatting with a fellow trade show visitor. It was a broad guy, muscular, about Burt's height and age, dressed pretty much like Burt himself. They had started with a remark about the Browns and they'd hit it right of, spending the whole evening talking and drinking.

About an hour in, the guy - Mitch - had made some casual remark about something and it had taken Burt a second to replay the statement in his mind and place his moment of confusion: he had said "my husband".

Burt must have given away his realization because Mitch had simply said "I'm gay. And very much taken. I'm not here to flirt. You don't seem like a guy who would have a problem with me being me." And Burt had said no, of course not _and meant it._

Mitch was a great guy: he knew his way around cars (which should be a given at an automotive trade show but really wasn't: too many sales vultures and paper pushers), he liked sports, went fishing but not nearly as often as he wanted, went hunting though he preferred the shooting range, had his own business too and agreed that everything tasted better with barbecue sauce. What did he care who Mitch spend his life with or what he did with another adult in the bedroom? It was nobody's business in Burt's opinion and he told Mitch so.

He was pretty sure Mitch wouldn't have talked about his family, stayed on neutral topics - as neutral as sports ever got - if Burt hadn't expressed interest. But why the hell not, Burt had told him about his: widower, raising his son alone. Even how he sometimes ached for companionship, to share his life again with a woman but how he couldn't let his wife go yet. The husband was a physical therapist, they had their 10th anniversary that year and Mitch had two daughters from a first marriage: one in college - Stanford, and Mitch was beaming with pride as he should - the other in high school. They'd stayed in contact since then, met up at conventions and exchanged the odd phone call and email (mostly with links relating to their line of business). All very normal. Mitch was just a man, just a guy like Burt.

And that right there was the problem. He hadn't had a single homophobic thought about Mitch, _none. _Ever. Mitch was a dude like him, husband or wife didn't matter. Kurt wasn't, with Kurt - as he had found out just now - it _did _matter.

Kurt was just as gay. But he was as different from Mitch as a Hummer from a Lotus Elise. Technically the same thing, yet worlds apart.

Kurt was flamboyant.

Kurt wore odd over-prized clothes, a good deal of them not designed for men. And some of those weren't even designed to be worn in public: he still felt his blood pressure rise every time the word 'corset' was mentioned. Thankfully it didn't happen often.

Kurt sung like a woman.

Kurt hadn't had a single male friend in his whole life he'd hung out with.

Kurt loathed any sport that wasn't dancing.

Kurt hated to watch sports and if he was somehow forced to ranted about the uniforms.

Kurt spends hours each day on his hair and skin care.

Kurt collected tiaras. He hadn't even known what the hell they were when he'd first stumbled upon them in that weird chest.

* * *

><p>Burt loved Kurt more than anything in his life. Even Carole.<p>

Burt would die for Kurt.

Burt would murder to keep his child safe.

Burt would take on the whole world so Kurt could love freely who he chose to love.

Burt had given Kurt a 15 grand clothing budget per year, a sum he knew kids with parents who made three times as much didn't match. He'd never touched it, even when he took a cut to keep Alonso on.

Burt had asked the Puckerman-kid to keep an eye out for Kurt after he'd transferred back. He was 95% sure the little punk had been in charge of the lawn furniture ending up on the roof (there had been no slurs or graffiti, no 'fag' or 'fairy' anywhere, but Puckerman and Finn had never really been about that from what Kurt told) and he'd still asked him. Burt would have done anything to prevent another Karofsky terrorizing his son. He liked Finn, but he either didn't notice threats or was helpless in dealing with them or getting help. Puckerman was a different breed: dangerous perhaps, but effective even hobbled by probation. He would have begged Finn's friend on his fucking knees if it ensured someone would be on the lookout for his child where he couldn't be. He hadn't needed to; "Puck" had been surprisingly decent. Generous really, he hadn't even accepted money: proud little bastard. From what Carole said his family could have used it but he had sneered at the offer. Burt had given him a standing invitation to have everything done for his family's cars, free of charge: he'd brought his mother's.

Burt had gulped when he saw NYADA's tuition fees. The college fund wouldn't cover them. Kurt would go there regardless. Burt wasn't a big spender; they'd manage, even with Finn in the mix now.

Burt ate tasteless crap he hated, but which was healthy. Because he never again wanted to see Kurt looking so scared and helpless.

Burt had stopped going to games with Finn despite both of them loving it because Kurt looked dejected when he did. Even though he tried to hide it and never wanted to come along.

Burt was fine with no grand-kids, adopted ones, ones produced via surrogate: he'd love to be a grand-dad some day, see hints of Elisabeth in a little girl perhaps... But it was all good as long as Kurt was happy.

* * *

><p>Burt loved Kurt.<p>

Burt wished Kurt wasn't so girly.

Burt wished that his son liked sports, not women's fashion magazines.

Burt wished Kurt wouldn't wear make-up and clothes made for women.

Burt wished Kurt wore jeans that didn't look spray-painted on and simple sweaters with sneakers.

Burt wished Kurt would show a bit more community spirit, he was a lucky kid in many ways: he wished Kurt felt the need to give back to less fortunate people than them.

Burt wished Kurt didn't always sing so high but used his lower notes. Singing songs by men.

Burt wished Kurt hadn't quit football after one game. He'd felt embarrassed by Kurt abandoning his team just like that, that wasn't sportsman-like. He'd never said anything to Kurt though because he didn't want to pressure him.

Burt wished Kurt had at least tried to make a guy-friend.

Burt wished Kurt showed more interest in the business or even just in cars, if only as a hobby. He helped out if he felt like it or needed money. He wasn't bad at it; but he didn't care about it. Not even about the fancy cars, those that every boy liked on some level. Burt knew because he'd rented a Ferrari for a weekend when Kurt had been fourteen, hoping it might spark some passion: Kurt had spend an hour matching his clothes to the paint finish instead of wanting to go driving and then complained about the look and lacking comfort of the interior from the passenger seat.

Burt wished Kurt and him shared interests. Any interest. That they had more in common than Kurt's mother, his first wife.

Burt wished with all his heart that Kurt were less effeminate. He couldn't help it. He tried not to. He still did.

He wished Kurt acted like a man, not a girl in a man's body.

He knew that if Kurt were just as gay as he was now, but acting more like Mitch, _being _more like Mitch, he'd be overjoyed. He would have had a much easier time to come to terms with Kurt's orientation. They'd probably have an even closer bond. If Kurt were one of the guys - just gay.

Burt wished that Kurt didn't let himself get fucked in the ass.

He'd known his boy would have sex one day. He'd never wanted to see it: gay or straight, that wasn't something a parent should witness. Burt knew what kind of penetration gay sex involved. Kurt might prefer him to be ignorant but Burt wasn't stupid. Anal wasn't a prerogative of homosexuals: Kurt would be mortified that he knew this, but it was among the top services asked from prostitutes. He'd had anal sex for heaven's sake. (No whore involved.)

He wished he had seen Kurt taking the Blaine-boy _if _he had to see his son having sex at all. He couldn't help it. That hadn't been Kurt's first time. They had talked, during. Even the few words Burt had heard before retreating: it was always like that. Kurt wanted to be taken, to be fucked rather than fucking.

Whatever they said: sex between guys was about power too. Letting oneself be taken like that meant something. It was different with women: they couldn't penetrate naturally so getting fucked didn't mean they submitted automatically. They could still be in charge.

But men? Men had the choice - and that _meant something_, choosing to submit, to let oneself be controlled, be taken, penetrated. Kurt preferred the girl's role, wanted it despite having a choice. Despite that Blaine-kid being smaller than him, younger than him, less bossy than him. But more manly. Less girly.

Couldn't Kurt be a man, at least in this?

He'll never tell Kurt any of this.

He'll always be ashamed of feeling like this.

He just can't help it. Not when he got reminded so brutally.

He'll always, always love Kurt.

He just wishes Kurt were different. Not less gay. More man.


End file.
